


Working Together

by yourKitty



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourKitty/pseuds/yourKitty
Summary: You, a Hogwarts professor, have to cooperate with one of your closest coworkers.





	Working Together

God, you couldn’t stand this occupation any longer. The hordes of students and their teasing, the strict rules, the unfriendly and downright strange coworkers, the stuffy atmosphere -- it all alienated you. But, you were skilled and Hogwarts wanted you. Why pass up something like it? It’s preferable to any other typical profession. Honestly, though, you had a different image in mind. You attended the school as a child, but that was years ago, and now that you reminisce, it’s about the same. 

On the topic of fellow professors, many of them stayed out of your way, fortunately. Except for one. Lockhart. It was indiscernible as to whether it was legitimate interest or opportunity. You were the only “young” female professor, in comparison, but still notably aged. And that meant you had neither the patience nor the desire to humour or return his advances. 

You ventured down the corridor to your classroom, which happened to be the largest. Just enough for two classes: precisely the aspect the higher-ups will take advantage of. 

“Good morning, (Y/N).” It echoed from a distance, and Gilderoy’s deceptively charismatic tone wormed its way into your ears. 

Belting out an exasperated groan as your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head, you turned to him with an eyebrow raised to compliment the unimpressed expression you kept. “Good morning,” you replied flatly. 

He met your eyes guiltily and began slowly, “I… must tell you that my room is under renovations, and we’ll have a joint class, just for today.” 

Your thoughts rushed with anger, annoyance, inconvenience, and the like. Renovations? For what? It was possible that this was all a trick to put the moves on you once again. But you had to play nice. “Don’t be late.” And you continued down to your room. 

Later on, the inevitable happened, with Gilderoy and his students pouring into your space, overrunning your own children. He beamed with a certain type of glow, as if he’d been anticipating this all day, and this was probably the truth. You were definitely unable to match this level of tomfoolery that this situation had wrought. Truthfully your class was beyond well-behaved compared to his rowdy lot. 

You tried and tried, tirelessly, employing even the most ridiculous of methods to toss a calmness over the students, but, naturally, you were unable to do so, causing you to immediately tire of their jeering antics. 

As soon as Gilderoy began, the students perked up like finely-trained dogs to a whistle. You stole a glance by stern eyes, teeming with intense jealousy. How could a goof like him command attention with such skill? Admittedly, he seemed familiar with them; as in, he’d developed a close connection you could hardly achieve. Only one class had been yours, so you didn’t know any other students on an identical level.   
But now, as the group fixed their eyes upon both of you, it was like your first day of instruction. Breathtaking anxiety. You turned your head to Gilderoy, who returned a look, but with a glint of confidence. With that, we began our lessons as best possible with our means. 

He brought those dreadful pixies with him. They bounced about in the cage in a swarm, wailing in desperation as yet one more thing to grate on your nerves. 

“Be careful with those things,” you advised, in no hurry to have such an issue on your hands. 

“I know what I’m doing,” he was quite assured. 

It was clear that he, in fact, did not know what he was doing. The beady-eyed creatures dispersed to harass the bewildered children, who quarreled with them. You rushed the children outside -- careful not to let the pests out, too -- in the nearest corridor, leaving Gilderoy to handle it, since he, in fact, did know what he was doing. 

The bustle had died down quickly. The disheveled professor had entered the hall with you, in every attempt to feign some collectivity. But although he wasn’t as graceful as he trademarked himself to be, it was refreshing, and even charming to witness him struggle like this. 

He began breathlessly, “Thank you.” 

“It’s my job, professor,” you huffed. 

“Yes, and you do it well.” 

You averted your eyes, primarily to shake any misconceptions you would have given otherwise in this strangely flustered state. “Alright. That’s enough flattery.” 

“Flattery? I mean it.” 

No difference. Your skepticism superseded any naivety on your part. He, on the other hand, continued to anticipate a love confession or somesuch (if it were even that profound). 

You sounded awfully cross, but you were truly grateful for his efforts. “You did all the hard work, anyway, corralling those brutes.” And, the truth happened to be that you wanted him to confide in and tell you how much you meant to him, if you held any such value at all. 

“Now you’re the flatterer.” 

“No. I’m just honest.” 

And with this, you all returned to the room, much too restless to try the lesson again, after some chunk of your time together had gone. As the students rushed out, shoving each other in every direction, you didn’t watch them leave. You were relieved to have them under someone else’s jurisdiction, anxious you may allow them to face danger again. Gilderoy stood at your side, as if to comfort you after a disempowering experience. 

A tinge of guilt ran through you, convincing you of the fact that you had been a bit coarse. “I,” you began slowly, “I apologize for my tone. And… all that.” 

“I don’t need an apology from you,” he smiled. A real smile from him, not a planning smirk. And, naturally, this meant you had to return the gratified expression. It was unanticipatedly refreshing to share an experience that did not result in exasperating disgust. 

“Then I take it back,” you answered haughtily, with a lift of the head. It was accepted. 

“What does this mean then?” 

Though glaringly obvious you lacked any knowledge of what ‘that’ meant, you offered a truce. A solution, A date, even. You haven’t seen a more ecstatic man in all your life.


End file.
